On Me

            I am writing again with vigor that I am sure may only last for a little bit. Unsure of the outcome this story may provide, I still decide on expressing the feelings I have been having on and off for years now ever since my mother had passed away. No one is ever really sure about life and to those who may think they have their lives set on track, well, good for you but the mystery that life provides only makes one’s life even more interesting as the days push on and the nights fleet by. I decided to write this down to create an art, to create something that I haven’t in years that I have been too depressed to do anything for myself. Yes, I have created art before and written words that astound me as I read my blogs and poems all over again and trace back the events that had caused me to write and draw such beautiful pieces. I joined a blog site when I turned 18 that helped me get through my mother’s death through writing poetry and sharing my photos that expressed my inner doubts. I had created Picasso like scripts of work on hand made paper and sold few when I had turned 20. I had created photos that can illuminate the night and give warmth to a home when I had turned 22. I had created a food blog which I am not proud to say I haven’t updated in a while when I had turned 23. Now, writing this all down I am 24 and it has been 6 years and 4 months since my mother had left this earth. As I had said, I am unsure of what this outcome may stipulate and yet I know for sure that this will be about my many emotions through out my years as a daughter, orphaned, a sister flooded with responsibility, and a young woman who’s life is to concur the restaurant world little by little with a business so known to so many people that it overwhelms her. I am that woman with all these questions and answers and experiences and thoughts.

            On a date I can barely remember, I had stepped into my home from high school and was approached by my brother. He went up to me with a confused look and a little jumpiness in his movements. “Nanay has cancer,” he mentions in an abrupt and surprising manner. “Don’t joke like that!” That conversation-ended right there. That night, my Tita came over the house to talk to my brother and I. She sat us down and slowly brought us the news that what my brother had mentioned earlier was most definitely and unfortunately true. I didn’t know how to react, what to think or what to say. I felt like a shell—hallow, empty, and useless. What was I supposed to do with that information at 16 years old? Nothing, I couldn’t do anything. My mother was diagnosed with Stage 4 C Endometrial Cancer. I couldn’t understand at the time how and why she had gotten it. I never really thought that the lump that she had made me feel while we watched TV together one night would be the death of her. My brother and I visited her the next day at Notre Dame Hospital. She looked fine! Yes she had an Intra Venous dextrose attached to her hand, but nevertheless, she looked fine to me. How could a woman so healthy looking, laughing, and chatting be dying of cancer. I couldn’t believe it. My brother barged in as usual, and I sat at the guest chair by the edge of the bed still bewildered and confused. I can’t remember much of that time but after that first day at the hospital I knew that everything would be hard for everyone, especially my mother.